


Dies Irae

by fvartoxin



Category: Holy Musical B@man - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, Disabled Character, No Dialogue, Other, Others mentioned but they're mainly OCs I created for this universe., Uhhhh convoluted-ass method of suicide implied.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26742745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fvartoxin/pseuds/fvartoxin
Summary: There he goes...there he goes again...at the very least, he's tried to hold it together for a while. Gold star for effort.





	Dies Irae

**Author's Note:**

> If I'm being honest, with my main AU the half of you aren't likely to understand much; the bulk of character development and plotlines thus far took place on a now-defunct server. But you don't have to fully understand something to enjoy it. Also, this is from over half a year ago.
> 
> As proven by an offhand bit of dialogue in "There are monsters and there are men", he lives through this.

For one thing, no conceivable force of the universe would relent and allow him to die. For another, he was fairly confident that he’d broken at least two ribs in that fall the other day. The searing pain in his chest that spiked whenever he inhaled was a clue, certainly; although he didn’t care to pinpoint _which_ ribs exactly. Then again, that was hardly noticeable given that the vast majority of his body was covered with scar tissue courtesy of _that_ damned vat. It was a damned good thing that he possessed a high pain tolerance. 

All of this was only unfortunate in the sense that he had been planning to do much, _much_ worse to himself. 

Good news: there was still time. 

Unless someone else (or several people) swarmed him before then. But, at this point, he honestly wouldn’t have even minded Basil slowly suffocating him; you _knew_ you’d given up at that stage in your life. He’d certainly have deserved it, there were no qualms about that. 

But he’d left no clue of where he had been going, and though some were definitely smart enough and/or familiar enough with him to figure any of that out (hell, _Eddie_ was a P.I.), attempting to find him would certainly be a journey. He didn’t envy any of them for that; and Silas had enough of a heart left to hope they _wouldn’t_ find him. If luck would have it he’d be gone far before someone could start yelling at him, say this was the worst damn idea he’d ever had. Which, you know, it _was_ up there on that list, and there were most definitely simpler ways to go about attempting to disappear in a more permanent manner. Had he the energy, he’d be mentally kicking himself. 

Attempting to hitchhike back to Illinois to see his sister and nephews for (what he planned on being) the last time had not been the smartest plan he’d ever come up with. He’d made decent enough time considering the limitations of one somewhat-physically disabled man who was currently on foot, sure, but he’d forgotten how the weather outside of Gotham City direct _wasn’t_ …weirdly static. It had rained yesterday. For the last _two days_ it had been raining, and that had, with the utmost sarcasm possible, done _wonders_ for his clothing. He’d dressed light, certainly lighter than his typical attire. A plain, sort of a heather gray exercise shirt and the least flashy pair of pants he could find; although camouflage khakis, no matter how subtle this particular pair was, weren’t exactly _in_. And, of course, the usual thin coat and too-bright hat combo. Had to have _something_ reflecting the man who he…was? Once was? Hell if he knew much of anything concrete these days. Far more preferable, to drown a thought in drink. 

As he walked, he naturally mulled over things, and found that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen anything other than the usual clouds or blinding snow. The latter, courtesy of his friend and adoptive father figure. A fellow villain, certainly, but unlike most his intentions were actually noble. The elder of the two was of the few Rogues who actually deserved respect, from a more logical standpoint. 

The disgrace of a man (murderer, embezzler, overall failure of a significant other, the list went on and on and on and on and on and _on_ ) stopped, though did not sit. Ahead of him now – packed dirt, largely undisturbed by anything besides the recent weather. The exact shade of which was damn impossible to tell in only the 3 AM light of the Moon, which effectively meant that it was currently casting everything around him in a palette of grays, grays, and, you guessed it, grays. Behind him – more dirt. _How thrilling_. 

…He’d miss Victor. Although, from the start the metahuman would have long outlived him anyway, barring a freak accident. 

Obviously, the matter of his exes went without saying. But there were several perfectly good reasons why he’d rewritten his will. 

He stood stock-still in the middle of nowhere, Pennsylvania (at least he’d crossed the state line) torrential rains pouring down, slicking the sheer fabric of the shirt to his scarred body in a physically uncomfortable manner and flattening what parts of his wavy hair weren’t covered with hat. The dye in it had more than begun to fade; it had already been fading during his last weeks in Gotham, only now his hair was far more of its natural brown shade than it was literally anything else. He’d clawed out the last of the gel holding it in place himself; it _did_ get unpleasant after several days out in the proverbial wild and it wasn’t as though he could shower at the moment. The rain helped with that, somewhat. He’d have to make himself more presentable before encountering actual civilization again, obviously. Even if it was only for a short while.

_Should_ he find shelter? Yes. _Would_ he find shelter? It’d be smart if he didn’t want to die of pneumonia, he’d admit that. Lisa would begin to wonder why he was even more late than he’d promised, despite her general feelings on having a wanted criminal in her presence for more than five seconds. He couldn’t blame her for being the only member of his blood family who cared for him any longer, but at the same time he wondered _why_. Like hell he’d ask. Why look a gift horse in the mouth? It wasn’t a sibling thing, that much was obvious to anyone with common sense, but given the prevalence of people that were varying levels of off-kilter in his family it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Yet, it did.

At least he had the sense to realize people should hate him. He wasn’t going to pity himself for that. He’d made his own bed arguably from the moment he’d first considered the possibility of delving into villainy, let alone picked up the cane he was leaning on; which, yes, he absolutely shouldn’t have brought along with him now that he really thought about it. Better to have left it where it was, as a memorial of sorts. Damn if its being apart from him didn’t make him nervous, though. Everything else could stay, even the 2004 VW Beetle sitting pretty in the garage. 

The cane _squelched_ faintly in the quickly soddening ground as he began moving again, walking somewhat aimlessly. No point in going back the way he came. 

For someone so smart, he sure was an idiot in a class of his own sometimes. That, he wouldn’t deny.


End file.
